


Sunsets used to be pretty

by PurpleK1W1



Category: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson, not the glass scientists but can be read that way if you squint
Genre: Edgy and moves fast, Feels, Idiots, Jekyon if you squint, M/M, Misunderstanding, a warm up kind of thing that has been in limbo for a year that i decided to finish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 07:54:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20738819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleK1W1/pseuds/PurpleK1W1
Summary: Dr. Jekyll is having a bit of an episode and Hastie finds himself trying to help him out of it.Title is a work in progress.





	Sunsets used to be pretty

Hastie had been pacing nervously for the past hour. Going over to check his mail tray for the fifth time in that hour, he grunted in frustration to find it was still empty of any news. Groaning, he found his body deciding before his brain did, as his legs made for the door, his arms grabbed his coat and hat, and his voice alerted the household that he was going for a stroll. Just like that, he was out the door and briskly making his way down the block.  
Reaching his destination, he looked up at the looming maroon doors, took one of the knockers in his hand and bashed it against the door. He took a moment's wait, allowing himself to catch his breath, and then brought the knocker against the door once again, this time quite violently. To his relief, Poole came quickly this time, answering the door and greeting him with unashamed desperateness.  
“I’m afraid the master has locked himself up again,” Poole explained, an exasperated whine leaving his throat. “What with Mr. Utterson out of town, there’s hardly been anyone able to talk any sense into him, let alone me and the house-keep! Just listen to him muttering that nonsense to himself down there!” Poole nearly cried, and before Hastie could allow himself to say anything reassuring, there was a thundering crash, followed by a muffled  
It would almost be comical if it didn’t have its complications. Hastie looked to Poole and watched the color drain from his face.  
After a long moment of listening to the half-deranged laughter coming from the lab-basement, Hastie clears his throat.  
“I’ll go collect him,” He muttered.  
“I’d be so grateful,” Poole sighed back, half in relief and half in desperate breathiness, leading him to the basement door. “Once you open the door, there’s a flight of stairs. Be careful not to fall, they’re steep, and he keeps it rather dark down there.” Poole directed. Lanyon shook his head, swallowed and nodded, stepping aside to let Poole unlock the door. As soon as it swung open, laughter was immediately audible. Although instead of deranged, it sounded giddier and childlike. The clanking of glass beakers and the staggering footsteps of the doctor were also audible. “Damn idiot,” Lanyon sighed, carefully lowering himself down the steep spiral staircase. When he got to the bottom, he witnessed, in all of its glory, Dr. Henry Jekyll. He was bent over a table, dripping a colorful liquid into a vat of boiling chemicals, holding his wrist so it would stay steady. His front side was covered in soot, and his hair looked like it hadn't been combed in a week. His tie was undone, and his shirt unbuttoned. His coat and overshirt were thrown in a crumpled pile to the side of the room. His hair was in a messy bun that messily framed his face. The only place there wasn’t soot, was around his eyes in two perfect circles shaped like spectacles, which were strewn, lensless on the table. To top off his perfect look, he only had one untied shoe on his left foot, and his right was bare.  
He carried on happily, chuckling giddily to himself. He set up another thing with colorful boiling chemicals that Lanyon could only describe as a “Dangerous experiment” For a lack of better word. He took in the sight of his overworked friend and sighed, pinching his nose to compose himself. Snapping out of his daze, he cleared his throat to catch his friend’s attention, which was probably the wrong thing to do. The scientist started so violently he dropped the glass vial he was holding as it shattered on the stone floor.  
“Hastie!” He cried, dancing away from the glass that sprayed his legs, “What are you doing here? At this time of night?” “It’s five in the evening.” Lanyon corrected, careful to keep his temper. He crossed the room in three, wide strides and took Henry’s hand into his own, gentle but firm. “A better question is what you think _you're_ doing down here, Harry?” Lanyon accused, inspecting the soot-covered hand, softening his grip when the scientist hissed in pain. “I was working!” He snapped childishly with a pout, “Haven’t you got work to do?” “Henry, would you have had any idea what time it was if I hadn’t told you? Do you know the date? How long you’ve been down here?” Henry opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Lanyon again. “You don’t! It’s Monday. You’ve been down here, as far as I’m aware, since last Thursday. Have you even slept since then?”  
“Since Thursday?” He muttered, “I think I had a wee nap Friday evening…” His Glaswegian accent snuck into his carefully phrased sentence, but he didn't seem to notice.  
“Henry, I’m aware your work is important, but you can not keep doing this.” He scolded calmly, yanking his handkerchief from his front pocket, wiping soot from Henry’s hand, grimacing when it came away oily and slimy instead of powdery as soot should. “What even is this?” “Oh,” Jekyll shrugged, “An array of things, But- Oww!” He hissed out a breath of air, screwing his eyes shut. An instinctual attempt to yank his hand back was thwarted by Lanyon moving his stern grip to his wrist to avoid further harm. He tried to feign a deadpan, but instead a look of gentle, but somewhat mortified, concern etched itself upon his face. “Are these burns?” He whispered.  
“Either that or blisters,” He tried to joke, but a glance at Lanyon made him decide that right now is not the time. “I mean, yes? But it’s nothing serious,” He lied unconvincingly as he hissed another breath, “But would you _quit_ touching it?!” he nearly shouted, his wrist still in Lanyon’s merciless grip.  
“Come with me,” Lanyon sighed and practically dragged Henry up the spiral stairs. Sometimes he understands why people think he’s loony. What, with him brooding in an underground lab for days on end.  
Up the stairs and past a worried Poole they go. From there, Lanyon leads them up more stairs and to one of the many bathrooms in the house. A dragging of the hand down the face, and a dramatic sigh later, Lanyon orders, “Sit.”  
“I won’t just-” Henry protested before getting shot with a glare. “Sit. down.” Henry sat down.  
“For a man with five doctorates, you do the dumbest fucking things.” Hastie sighed from the sink, pumping the water a bit more aggressively than needed. “Come here.” He grumbled, only to be immediately countered. “I can wash my own hands you know?” The other spat. “You always insist on treating me like some sort of- of-- Child!”  
“Well!” Lanyon huffed, “If you didn’t go and nearly off yourself in some new dangerous experiment once a month, this wouldn’t have to happen! No one is treating you like a child, we’re treating you like you’re a danger to yourself, because that’s what you’ve been lately! Half dead and dangerous!”  
“So?” Jekyll growled an animalistic retort that truly startled the other. It didn’t sound like him. In the most literal sense, he sounded like another man had taken over his body. “I’m an adult! I can do what I choose! Not like it’s going to affect the rest of you, doing your important socialite things and what have you. You’ve not the time for me any other day of the month, so don’t come into _my house_ to pretend you’re a good friend and tell me what’s best!”  
Lanyon gaped, and scoffed, and finally chuckled in disbelief. “I- _you-!?_ Do you know what? To hell with you and your ‘_science,_'” He spat. “You’re the one who hasn’t gotten time for anyone else, you- you--!” He loses his words but finds them again quickly enough. “Your work is just so important to you, it’s more important than your friends, than your family, than your lover-”  
“I’m chasing-!”  
“You’re chasing your tombstone is what you’re chasing! You just-” He was interrupted by the sound of Henry coughing and wheezing.  
“My- Are you quite alright?” Hastie panicked, feeling the anger seep from his conscious. “You need to leave,” Henry spoke, and Hastie ignored that it was in that same raspy, angry, animalistic voice that didn’t belong to him. “Henry, I can help, you know I didn’t mean-” “I said _l__eave_! Get out! _Go!_” “Henry, I-” Lanyon yelped as he was pushed out of the bathroom and the door was slammed behind him. He heard the other’s body slump against and slide down the door, and hit the ground with a dull, muffled thud.  
And then the_ groaning_. It was in that same voice, but it sounded pained. Lanyon begged, pleaded, and cried through the door, but it was no use; it wasn’t budging. After a half-hour of trying to coax his friend out of the bathroom, the doctor was startled by Poole, who had come up the stairs and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
“Doctor... It’s getting late. It’s a quarter ‘till six, sir.”  
Hastie felt his eyes widen as he flicked his vision to a window that had yellowed with the sunset over the horizon. Henry used to love the sunset.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is quite stiff and it moves abnormally quickly but this has been in my wips for fucking ever and i had to get it out somewhere. I also apologize for the length


End file.
